


I return, for you’re a fire; untamed

by inber



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Background Poly, Bottom Jaskier | Dandelion, Bratting, Bruises, Coming Untouched, Consensual Kink, F/M, Light Dom/sub, Name-Calling, Semi-Public Sex, Spanking, Top Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Verbal Humiliation, Very Slight Cock and Ball Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:16:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27165101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inber/pseuds/inber
Summary: At a formal function, Jaskier cannot seem to behave. Yennefer reminds him of his place.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 22
Kudos: 161





	I return, for you’re a fire; untamed

**Author's Note:**

> Some Yennskier filth! Just a quick safety note: there's a dynamic of a pre-established relationship. Generally I'd go out of my way to mention safety and aftercare, but it would have interrupted the flow of this fic. They certainly would have things negotiated! Everyone is having a delightful time. Anyway, enjoy!

“Have I told you that you look absolutely deadly in that gown, darling?”

“You have,” Yennefer said primly, placing her gloved hand over Jaskier's, which was wandering north from the squeeze of her waist, “and you've been a horrid little menace all evening. I'm supposed to be working.”

Jaskier twirled her elegantly on the dance floor, stepping to catch her return, moving in sync with those surrounding them. They both knew the steps well; he, raised with silver-spoons and all the intricacies of court, and she, dozens upon dozens of banquets beneath her magical belt. When the music slowed to a conclusion, Jaskier dipped Yennefer lower than strictly necessary, strong hand supportive at her back. He grinned.

“Another dance.” Jaskier did not sound like he was asking, as they applauded the musicians.

“No.”

“Work is dull. You're not dull, Yennefer. Nothing is happening at this shindig – look, see, the king's half asleep.”

“All the more reason for vigilance.”

“Yennefer,” Jaskier's tone broke higher, breaching the realms of whiny, “you can read every mind in this room. I am willing to bet most folk are lingering for the prospect of dessert and more wine, and any unspoken ulterior motives are no more insidious than the hope of a tumble with a wedded courtier.”

Yennefer's eyes flashed in warning as she stepped away from the edge of the dance floor, skirts shimmering emerald and black. The fact that Jaskier was right had no bearing on her displeasure. She picked up a goblet of cherry wine, wetting her painted lips.

“I'm right, aren't I?”

“You're annoying.”

“Annoying _and_ right. Not mutually exclusive, you divine, ethereal--”

“Jaskier,” Yennefer frowned, drawing him closer away from the doddering crowd, towards the shadows of the curtains that bordered the room, “I did not invite you tonight as a test of my patience.”

“Why did you invite me, then?”

“Geralt was busy.”

Jaskier managed to look wounded, then, and Yennefer pretended the expression did not vex her. He was quick to brighten again. “Ooh, liar. He's not. I think he said he was seeing to some complex alchemy, that's all.”

“Right. As I said. Busy.”

“No, Yen. Avoiding this scene. Geralt does so hate a party, and you knew that I don't. That's why you asked me.”

“Is that so? And what reward should I bestow upon such a vigilant insect, buzzing about my ears all evening?”

“A kiss?” Jaskier fluttered his lashes, the dawn-sky blue of his eyes glossy in the low-light. “In this little alcove, look – no one need know, nor see.”

“A kiss? For a bug?” Yennefer scoffed. She gripped Jaskier's wrist firmly, and with one rapid motion, aided by the veil of magic, they were tucked behind the heavy curtain, in a chamber intended for a guard's rest.

The movement quashed the air from Jaskier's lungs, and he stared down at Yennefer with wide eyes, willingly pinned against the stone wall like a butterfly to corkboard. When he got his bearings, noting the single wooden bench and the low smouldering lamp, he grinned roguishly. He bent down - and found her forearm at his throat, effectively blocking him. Jaskier made a low sound of disappointment.

“I'd sooner squash you, little moth.” Yennefer whispered. Jaskier shuddered, tongue-tip darting across his top lip.

When she released him from her grip, Jaskier reached after her longingly, standing in place as she settled on the wooden bench. Yennefer's eyes were rough-cut amethyst, the promise of something pricelessly polished. With purpose, she began to remove her gloves, finger by finger.

“Yennefer--”

“Shh-shh.” Yennefer chided. “Must be quiet, Jaskier. Can you not hear them outside?”

Jaskier let out a slow breath as he listened. The party continued without them, close enough that he could hear the drunken laughter, far away enough that their secret thrilled privately through his veins. He bit nervously at his lower lip.

“As I've been saying, you've been such a wretched pest tonight. It would be remiss of me not to deal with you accordingly. Come over here, and lower your breeches.” Yennefer crooked her index.

“Wh--” Jaskier darted a glance at the heavy curtains, which lay undisturbed. He felt his ears grow warm. “Here? Yen, _now?_ ”

“Don't make me repeat myself.”

Swallowing his nervousness in a lump, Jaskier shuffled over. He hesitated only briefly, before pulling at the leather laces that criss-crossed at the front of his pants. When they were loose, he shucked the material down to his knees.

“And your smallclothes. I'm surprised you wore any, actually.”

“Yennefer!” Jaskier hissed, blush blazing firey across his face. “Do you really intend...?”

“You're making it worse for yourself, Jaskier.”

Fuck, Jaskier was hard. He whined in embarrassment, obediently undoing the foppish pale green ribbons that laced his underthings tight. These, too, he dropped. He stood, humble, praying that Yennefer would not remark upon the hardening upward curve of his prick.

No such luck. “I'm not surprised.” Yennefer smiled, reaching out to gently flick the underside of Jaskier's cock, just below the fat head. He hissed, flinching. “Come, now. Lay across my lap, arse up, there's a good boy.”

Arguing would broke him no favours. Jaskier used the bench to hold the weight of his upper body as he gently lowered himself onto the plushness of Yennefer's thighs, warm through the layers of her dress. He arranged himself carefully, like a gift for her to unwrap piece by piece.

“Yennefer--”

“How _informal,_ little moth.”

“Forgive me,” Jaskier muttered, “m-mistress?”

“Mmm?” Yennefer stroked his lower back like one might comfort a skittish colt.

“I—ahh—I'm afraid that I'll make... a mess on your lovely dress, like this. Mistress.”

“Very thoughtful.” Yennefer purred, arranging Jaskier's smallclothes so that they bunched tighter beneath his dick, providing something of a buffer. “You _are_ so messy, leaking everywhere. My filthy thing.”

Jaskier trembled. “Yes, mistress.”

“Terribly presumptuous of you to believe I'll let you come, however. You will keep your hands where I can see them. Don't you dare touch your little prick, understood?”

“Yes, mistress.” Jaskier said, slightly mournful.

Outside, the band began to play a lively polka. Dessert was most likely being served. Boots stomped in time to the beat, tambourines jingling. Not for the first time, and certainly not for the last, Jaskier marvelled at Yennefer's timing.

“You will count to twenty. Failure to do so, or forgetting your place, will result in me beginning again. Am I clear, Jaskier?” Yennefer's sweet breath brushed his cheek.

“Y-eah. Yes, mistress.” Jaskier corrected himself quickly.

Yennefer said nothing. She raised her bare hand, and bore it down quickly onto the plump flesh of Jaskier's left cheek. He squealed in surprise; thankfully, all was masked by the clapping of hands outside.

“One.” Jaskier mewled.

“Going to have to be quieter than that, foolish boy. What if people hear? Why, they'd come in here to see what the fuss was, and find your bare-buttocks raised, ruddy prick wet, begging for it. Do you think they'd be appalled?” Yennefer's teeth grazed the tip of Jaskier's ear. “Do you think they'd _watch?_ ”

“Oh, fuck.” Jaskier moaned, squirming. Yennefer stilled him with a firm palm.

“If you cannot be quiet, I'll have to stuff your whore mouth. Control yourself.”

Jaskier nodded vigorously, letting out a shaking breath. At the same time, Yennefer's hand connected with his other arse-cheek. Jaskier trembled, but he did not shout this time.

“Two.” He whispered.

Smirking, Yennefer grew bolder, bolstered by the ruckus outside. She struck him a further eight times, the skin of his bum blossoming ruby, the mark of her handprints vivid on his pale flesh. With delight, she noted the faintest bruising where one of her rings had bit into him. Number ten.

“N-nine.” Jaskier moaned, sounding dazed.

“Wrong, silly.” Yennefer cooed, bending down to press her lips to the cleft of Jaskier's rear, leaving a lovely lipstick crescent. “That was number ten. Did you not learn to count in Oxenfurt?”

“Hnng,” Jaskier squirmed, “I'm sorry, mistress.”

“I shall begin again.”

Jaskier's cock throbbed against her thighs, eager. He nodded his consent, arching the small of his back like a tart. Yennefer hummed, and began to spank him anew.

“You didn't forget your place, Jaskier," Yennefer clicked her tongue, after he'd counted out number eleven, “you just wanted more. Don't think I don't know.”

“Fuck, mistress,” Jaskier trembled in her lap, “can't get enough of you. I'm sorry I bothered you this eve— _ahh!_ T-twelve.”

“Naughty, flirty bother. You'll remember your place after this for a couple of days, I should think, every time you take a seat.” Yennefer grinned, and hit him again.

“Yes! Thirteen, oh, _fuck,_ Yen--”

Yennefer let the name slide. “Too loud, my pretty plaything.”

“M'sorry, I'm—I can't, I'm gonna, I'll come. I-if you keep... _fuck,_ I'm—I'm too close.”

The sound of Yennefer's laughter was part delight, part taunt. “You're a kinky bitch, Jaskier. Alright, let's see, then. No more counting, but no touching. Cream your little cock for me.”

The twitch of his dick grew stronger against her thigh with just the filth of her words, and when she added the impact of her hand again, Jaskier was forced to shove his fingers into his mouth to quieten his moans. Yennefer struck him four more times, closer and closer to the delicate skin of his balls, before Jaskier stiffened and thrashed in her lap. His eyes rolled back as he rutted into the fabric of his own clothes mindlessly, drooling around his fingers, moaning as his prick spurted wet and thick.

Yennefer fussed over him, cooing, stroking the purple-red marks on his arse as he shivered through his orgasm. When it was over, Jaskier's strength left him, and he collapsed harder into her lap, forehead pressed into the bench. He was panting, glassy-eyed.

“My, my.” Yennefer smiled. “Here's the truth, Jaskier – _this_ is why I take you to events.”

Jaskier giggled stupidly, fucked-out, sore and sated. “Mmm. This is why I bother you all evening, you divine creature.”

Fondly, Yennefer tucked some stray hair behind his ear. “You were good for me, my darling bard. I'm proud.”

Had Jaskier wings, like a moth, they would have fluttered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! You can find drabble and nonsense on my tumblr @inber if you're also on that site.


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